


Insomnia

by thingswithwings



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Chatting & Messaging, Epistolary, Insomnia, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-04
Updated: 2007-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingswithwings/pseuds/thingswithwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John Sheppard is basically the worst IM correspondent of all time.  Written for the prompt "insomnia."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

The IM program beeps quietly to tell him that someone has just logged on, and Rodney, tired of squinting angrily at the slow-moving simulation he’s running, check to see who it is.

Huh. Sheppard almost never shows up on the Atlantis instant messaging program, and especially not after – he glances at the computer clock – three in the morning. Rodney can’t resist.

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (03:24:16)**  
What are you doing awake? Don’t you get up at some ridiculous hour in the morning?

Sheppard doesn’t message back, so Rodney stops squinting at the message box and goes back to squinting at his simulation for a while. Then the program beeps again.

 **John.Sheppard says: (03:32:54)**  
can’t sleep

That one, Rodney knows well, but he’s surprised that Sheppard would admit to it.

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (03:33:08)**  
Why not?

 **John.Sheppard says: (03:38:03)**  
usual. was gonna go for a run.

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (03:38:54)**  
And yet you’re on IM. Are you going to run with your PDA?

 **John.Sheppard says: (03:42:33)**  
nope. thought I’d talk to you, that way I’ll drop right off.

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (03:42:58)**  
You’re killing me, here, Colonel.

Rodney hesitates, then types again.

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (03:43:29)**  
Want to play chess? To pass the time?

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (03:43:39)**  
If you want to, that is. Online.

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (03:43:56)**  
Or in person, either is fine.

He then pretends that he’s watching his simulation, but really he’s just biding his time until the messenger program beeps at him.

 **John.Sheppard says: (03:55:44)**  
you know what i’d really like

 **John.Sheppard says: (03:56:49)**  
i’d really like to be having sex right now

 **John.Sheppard says: (03:57:12)**  
that’s the best cure for insomnia

He stares at this last for a long time before beginning to type. He almost puts, “Then maybe you’re doing it wrong,” but then backspaces, leaving the text field blank. And, in Rodney’s moment of indecision, Sheppard writes again:

 **John.Sheppard says: (04:02:41)**  
be nice

For a crazy moment, Rodney takes this message as the imperative, telling him, Rodney, to “be nice,” and the possibilities behind that statement reel behind his eyes before he figures out what Sheppard actually means.

It would be nice, he means. It’d be nice to have another body in bed with him, to get off with someone else’s hands on his body, to have someone to kiss his lips, his neck, his chest, his dick. To have someone to fuck, would be nice.

And Rodney’s not even pretending to watch the simulation anymore. He’s never been good at this, this guy-thing where guys get together and talk about sex they’ve had, or sex they’ve wanted to have; he always gets it wrong, feels uncomfortable in his own skin. So maybe he’s misinterpreting it, but it sounds like Sheppard wants –

Rodney’s fingers move faster than his brain, typing _do you want me to come over_ into the text box before he can think about it. But he knows better, goddamn it he knows better, and reaches for the backspace key and leans on it.

Except at some point, he leans on the “enter” button, too, and part of the message goes through.

 **Dr.R.McKay says: (04:04:53)**  
do you want

Rodney stares at it in horror. He tries to think up plausibly innocent endings for that phrase, but in the context of the conversation they’ve been having, in the context of the things John just told him, all the normal plausibly-innocent moves are suspect.

So he leaves it alone, staring at the dangling half-sentence as if willing it to disappear.

 **John.Sheppard says: (04:12:39)**  
yeah

 **  
_John.Sheppard has signed off (04:12:45)_   
**

And this is even worse, a positive answer to a question he hasn’t even asked, but maybe not so crazy: it’s something, after all, to know that John _wants_ , that he wants something, that he needs something. It’s four a.m. and he’s a little drunk on the time of day.

So he leaves his simulation running by itself and steps out the lab door. Sheppard’s quarters aren’t far.


End file.
